Use Me
by Miss Pibbles
Summary: "You think yourself immune to me, is that it?" His smirk grew wider, lips peeling back to reveal his teeth as he chuckled darkly. "How tragically heroic, when I can snatch everything away from you." A mission to infiltrate the God of Mischief's hidden lair takes a turn for the worst when her true identity is discovered. Now, Emily Jane Stark must escape before it's too late.
1. Prologue

**So I've been reading a lot of Avengers fics lately and have been inspired to finally put my skills to the test! Let us see how I fare, yes?**

**In this story, Tony Stark is around the actual age of the amazing Robert Downey Jr. himself, strictly for plot purposes and age differentiation/comparison to what I have planned, and also for the sake of mentality.**

**This is just a short prologue before the first chapter of where the story really begins – an introduction of sorts, if you will.**

**Enjoy!**

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_**Prologue**_

* * *

"_And now you kneel at my feet, gasping for air – clinging onto that wretched thing you humans call life – and you still do not beg for mercy?" He laughed; a deep reverberation that growled through his chest. "It almost makes me sad to destroy such a brave and clever man."_

_The blade pierced the flesh, and his voice was dangerously calm over the horrifying scream that thickened in the air._

"_Almost."_

* * *

The low rumble of the engine suddenly coursed through the vehicle; a timid, thrumming purr that barely made the slightest of reverberations. Its sleek finish glinted in the pale yellow street lights like the coat of a panther; beautiful, desirable, and mesmerizing. A slight drizzle fell from the blackened skies, the weather promising to be uncharacteristically dreadful over the next few days.

The cold wind was short lived, thankfully, as she slid carefully into the car and along the leather seats to the far side. Her fingers and toes stung from the sudden transition from cold to warm, and so she removed her gloves and placed them in her lap.

"Where to, Miss?"

A single glass lay already filled on the small ledge to her left. Picking it up, she took a long swig and placed it back down, momentarily holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut in order to calm the hot burn that seared down her throat. The urge to cough was unbearable, but she held it in, knowing that _he'd _smirk at her if he could see her now.

Reaching into her pocket, the young woman pulled out an I.D. badge and flashed it to the driver, whose face immediately tensed upon reading the familiar insignia.

The driver then nodded and tipped his hat before gently swinging the car out onto the busy road. The rain pattered against the tinted windows, and a flash of white broke through the skies, followed by a low rumble. She then sighed to herself, letting her hand run through her auburn hair and ending with a terse rub on the back of her neck.

Brown eyes watched the skyline pass by; its familiar lights and atmosphere causing a lump to settle deep within her stomach.

How long had it been? Five years? Ten?

Only the wrinkles on his face would tell.

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**Please review!**


	2. Chapter One

**Okay, so this is where the story officially begins! I'm really excited to be writing this! Also, a massive thank you goes out to the ever-so-wonderful **_**Princess LaLaBlue**_** for letting me bounce ideas off of her! **

**If you want to see what my main girl looks like, it's the cover image. Yes, she is Piper from the movie Drive Angry. Her tough and gritty character really spoke to me, so I thought someone like her would be good for the story – just a change in the name, is all.**

**And thank you to all who have favorited, followed, and reviewed so far, despite the painfully short prologue! It means a lot. So here's an extra long chapter for you all for being so patient!**

**Enjoy and please review!**

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_**Chapter One**_

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The young woman offered the elderly couple a warm smile as she carefully placed their plentiful meals down on the table in front of them, and then straightened up and placed her hands on her hips. She watched as they unwrapped the cutlery from its napkin, and it was in no time that they began to dig in.

"Now, if there's anything else you two need, don't hesitate to let me know, okay?" the young woman offered kindly, and the couple nodded in appreciation.

The young woman, Emily, turned away from the table and reached behind her to tighten the ropes of the apron around her waist. As she tucked the pen behind her ear, she noticed the throng of people enter the restaurant, and without having to look at the clock that hung over the eastern wall, it didn't take a genius to figure out that it was the lunch hour for the businessmen and day labourers.

Quickly, she neared the small kitchen window, tucking a strand of hair into her bun as she began to read the orders ahead.

The next piece of paper indicated an order of pasta with a side of salad, followed by the soup of the day. Since neither were out yet, Emily plucked the little sheet of paper from her notepad and pinned it to the corkboard above her.

A small tinkling sound rang throughout the restaurant, and Emily turned around to see a family enter the restaurant. Putting on her best smile, she bounced over to them, grabbing some menus from the condiment table as she passed it.

"Welcome to Vapiano's," Emily chirped, gesturing with her arm and ushering for the family of five to follow her to the nearest six-seater table as the children talked excitedly amongst themselves.

"My name is Heather," she handed each of them a menu, "And I'll be your waitress today." She then pulled out her little notepad from the pocket of her apron and plucked the pen from behind her ear.

"Can I start you off with some drinks?"

The three children immediately began shouting out their orders, their voices growing louder as each of them tried to talk over one another. Their mother was quick to scold them, and apologized to Emily, who just laughed gently.

"So that's two Cokes and a strawberry milkshake," Emily recited with a small smile as she scribbled them down. She then turned to the parents. "Anything for you two?"

As Emily finished scribbling down all five orders of drinks, she ushered the family to take their time in choosing their food, and also informed them that she'd be back soon to take those orders. With one last smile, Emily returned to the kitchen window and heaved three plates full of chicken and pasta onto her arm and hands.

A heavy grown suddenly came from her left, and Emily turned around to see her friend, Kathy, lean up against the wall beside her, an obvious look of exhaustion on her face.

"Tired already?" Emily teased as she carefully spun on her heel to deliver the food.

"I don't know how you do it, Heather," Kathy sighed painfully as she followed Emily to the first table. As Emily went to place down the food, Kathy moved to the table next to her and began clearing empty plates and stacking glasses.

"How you are able to run yourself ragged into the early hours of the morning, and still manage to wake up on time for the next shift, is beyond me." Kathy shook her head as she haphazardly stacked the plates and glasses onto the plastic tray.

Emily giggled. Kathy was relatively new to the restaurant business after being let go of her job as being a secretary, and was having trouble getting used to the erratic and unholy hours of being a waitress at a busy restaurant, and was therefore beginning to feel the brunt of her shifts.

"I've had my share of long days, Kathy, believe me." Emily then quickly offered her kind offer to the last table about calling her back should they need anything. After that was done, the two headed back to the kitchen window as the tinging of the service bell was being tapped impatiently.

Kathy groaned once more, and Emily placed a hand on her shoulder and flashed her a comforting smile. "You'll get used to it. Just give it time, okay?"

Kathy murmured something unintelligible, and Emily gently punched her shoulder, and that tore a smile from her friend's lips. Emily giggled, and Kathy followed suit, until the two were laughing with each other. It was suddenly cut short, however, as the tinkle of the bell on the door of Vapiano's rang behind them.

Kathy sighed and gave her friend a pleading look.

Grabbing a menu from the condiment table, Emily spun around on her heel and shot her companion a playful glare with a pointed finger, signalling that Kathy owed her one. Her friend grinned like a shot fox, and Emily laughed to herself as she neared the table of a single customer toward the back.

Emily placed the laminated menu down next to the gentleman in a very expensive looking charcoal suit, and retrieved her notepad and pen.

"What can I get for you?" she asked sweetly.

His answer was abrupt and terse, barely catching the end of her own question.

"Coffee. Black. Two sugars."

The menu was then held up to her, and it took Emily a moment to compose her thoughts, take the laminated piece of paper and tuck it under her arm, and scribble down the man's order.

Emily eyed the man for a brief moment. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

The man didn't answer, and after a moment or two – and with a small purse of her lips – Emily left the table and headed toward the other side of the counter. On her way back, she craned her neck to the side and saw that the gentleman was still sitting in that tense position, hands folded on the table in front of him, his gaze pinned firmly on her. She wasn't sure if he was really looking at her, due to the dark sunglasses that adorned his face, but it made her uncomfortable nonetheless.

As Emily slipped the order to the coffee counter, something didn't feel quite right. A feeling, dense and unsettling, descended upon her shoulders. It caused her to slow her pace as she headed for the kitchen, leaving her mind so out of it that she almost stumbled into a passing customer. Emily quickly apologized and shook her head, definitively closing the gap between her and the kitchen.

Kathy then appeared beside her, sighing heavily and then prattling off and complaining about some rude bunch of teenagers at table fifteen or something like that – blissfully unaware to Emily's sudden shift in demeanour. Kathy's words fell of deaf ears, however, as Emily's mind drowned out the sound of her voice with more pressing matters.

_What was that just now?_

Emily leaned against the counter, head downcast, and a frown adorned her features. That feeling was still there, unshakable, and it suddenly made her feel weary, like this feeling was something she'd felt before – but for the life of her, Emily couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Going against her better judgement, Emily cast a wary glance to table eight, eyes quickly finding the strange man accompanying it. Thankfully, his eyes were now focused on the phone in his hands, his fingers darting hurriedly across the keypad. Emily's frown deepened, as did her thoughts – which never actually got a chance to; the gentle tapping of a finger on her shoulder jerked her out of her thoughts.

"Heather?"

It was Kathy, whose round face was now in front of hers, brown eyes searching her blue ones for some kind of response.

"Hey, Heather, are you okay?" Kathy's hand was now resting on Emily's shoulder, and before the woman in question could answer, the head chef – Greg – impatiently tapped the bell on the counter.

"Come on, girls, get to it! We don't pay you to stand around and gossip!" His face was ruddy and dirty, and what sweat-matted hair became loose from the hairnet clung to the sides of his cheeks, to which he brushed aside with the back of his hand. The portly man then threw the women one last glare before shuffling back into the mess of pots and pans that littered the stoves and preparation benches.

Without bothering to dignify her friend with an answer, Emily headed to the main counter and left Kathy to the plates overflowing with food that were being shoved through the small opening by Greg. There was no protest from Kathy, and for that, Emily was thankful. She pushed past her friend, a bus boy, and a small family and headed toward the bathrooms, which were located at the back of the restaurant.

Emily pushed open the door and dove for the sink, hands coming to clutch around the porcelain sink as if her own legs would suddenly give way. Her heart was pounding, and her head felt as if it was going to implode. Quickly, she looked up to the overhead mirror and checked her complexion. Her hair was still as neat as it was when she had placed it in a bun this morning, and her face was still clean and neat; her make-up still in effect.

Everything still appeared to be fine, no matter how long she stared at her own face for. Shaking her head, Emily reached over and turned on the tap, and cupped her hands underneath the cool flow of water. It wasn't necessarily hot outside, nor was it hot in the restaurant, but she suddenly felt restless and uncomfortable. Wetting her hands, Emily rubbed them on the back of her neck and underneath her jaw. It was refreshing, and it cooled her down a little, but it didn't shake that damn feeling away.

_Where is this feeling coming from?_

It was like trying to remember a face you'd never seen before, and it was beginning to strike a cause for alarm. She'd never seen the man before, that much was certain, but then again, there was something about him; something about the way he carried himself, the way he had stared at her, that was just so familiar.

Closing her eyes, Emily heaved in a few deep breaths to combat the incessant pounding in her head. After tucking in a few stray hairs back into her bun, she tightened the straps of her apron and headed back out into the restaurant.

She could still feel the man's gaze on her as she headed back to the kitchen window, waiting for more orders. Kathy was busy taking a few orders on table five, and one of the new girls had just arrived and was busy tying her apron on. The lunch hour was dwindling by the minute, and when it was safe enough, Emily decided she was going to dart out the back alley for a calming breath or two.

Was she getting sick? It wasn't a high possibility, but there were a few people that had come in recently with a cold. Maybe she was catching something, and her mind was playing tricks on her. Yes, that had to be it. There was no other explanation.

As Emily passed the coffee counter, the young girl behind it called out to her to take the order to table number eight – the table where that man was sitting. Cursing, Emily knew she couldn't just pretend that she didn't hear her; she was only three feet away, after all.

Squaring her shoulders, Emily flashed the barista a small smile before taking the coffee from the counter and turning in the direction of the table.

The man still sat in the same position, though now he was scanning the wine list that sat in its menu slit in the middle of the table, next to the salt and pepper. He still had his sunglasses on, and that made Emily a little suspicious; here he was, clad in an expensive charcoal suit, dark sunglasses, and behaving in the most mysterious way.

_Could he be…?_

Emily quickly dismissed her suspicious thoughts as she closed the distance between herself and table eight. Clearing her throat, she placed the coffee down onto the table.

"Here's your coffee, sir. And my apologies for the long wait."

The man didn't take his gaze away from the wine list right away, for some reason still intent on reading it, despite the fact that it was only lunch. When he did take his gaze away, he first looked at her, and then down at his coffee. Taking it in his hand, he took a small sip, and placed it back down.

"Something wrong?" Emily asked hesitantly, silently wishing that he could hurry up and send her on her merry way.

"Yes, actually," the man responded. "Do you think you could get me some sugar? There doesn't seem to be any here." He then made a small motion to the spot where the sugar should be among the salt, pepper, and sauces, but it wasn't. Emily frowned at the empty space.

_I could've sworn that…_

"Yes, right away, sir."

Just as Emily turned to grab the nearest sugar container from the table next to her, she saw the man's arm move, and without so much as a warning, the knife and fork plummeted to the floor.

It was so quick, so fast that there was no time to even stop and think, and before Emily even realized what was happening and what she was doing, her arm had shot out, and the cutlery was suddenly safely in her hand, just scant inches from the floor.

And it was just that little too late that Emily noticed that others were staring at her on the floor, crouched down, cutlery in hand. Some began to whisper, and Emily quickly stood to her feet, brushing herself off. The cutlery was then placed back next to the man's arm, and she quickly turned on her heel to leave.

"I didn't think you'd still be this good."

Emily froze mid-step.

Slowly, she turned back around to face the man. "Excuse me?"

The man reached up and professionally plucked his tinted sunglasses form the bridge of his nose. He then folded them neatly and placed them in the inner breast pocket of his suit.

"Even after two years out of the field, your reflexes are still right on par." He then looked up at Emily with a sort of wry smile on his face, like what he was saying was nothing out of the ordinary.

Emily, on the other hand, was struck with sudden fear.

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Agent Stark."

_He… how does he…?_

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, sir," Emily said with a faux laugh, offering the man an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but—"

"I know very well who you are, Emily."

And at the mention of her name, Emily let the smile fall from her face.

"What do you want?" she hissed as she took the seat opposite him.

"I just want to talk," he answered simply. "Is that too much to ask?"

Emily scoffed and folded her arms across her chest as she leaned back in her chair. "And what makes you think I want to talk to you?"

The man clasped his hands and sat them on the table in front of him. "I'm here to make you an offer."

"I have no interest in what you have to say," Emily ground out.

"But I haven't even told you what it is yet." He then reached into the inner pocket of his suit and withdrew a folded up sheet of paper. He held it out to her, but Emily didn't budge; she didn't even look at the paper in his hand.

"He needs you again."

"You can tell him to shove it. I'm not going back." Emily then pushed herself up from the chair and stood to her feet. "We're done here."

The man reached out and snatched her by the wrist, effectively holding her in place with a tight grip.

"Look, Emily, I know you're still upset about what happened, but—"

Emily suddenly whirled around, yanked her wrist from his hand, grabbed the knife from the table, and firmly brought it down to pierce the man's sleeve and pin his arm to the table with a loud _thunk.  
_

She didn't even care that the people around her stopped to stare again; she didn't even bat an eye when they started to whisper about her and what they had just witnessed. Emily's gaze was still firmly fixed to him, her face now twisted in a hard glare as she brought her face close to his, her hand still gripping the knife embedded in the table.

"Now look here," she bit out in a low voice so that the people around them couldn't hear her. "I don't _ever_ want to see you here, ever again, got it? You don't look for me, you don't talk to me, and you leave me the hell alone. I've worked too hard and for too long to try and get my life back, and you think you can just walk in here and ruin it?"

Emily then yanked the knife out of the table with a sharp jolt.

"And you can tell Fury that I meant what I said when I left." She then stood to her feet and put her customary smile back on her face as she set the knife back down on the table. "Now, have a nice day."

It was difficult to ignore the whispers that followed Emily as she headed back to the kitchen counter, but she didn't even look back. She didn't _want_ to look back; she just wanted get on with her life and move on – was it really that much to ask for?

It seemed as if people were asking for a lot these days.

As Emily approached the kitchen counter, she began to distract herself from her encounter by shuffling the already neat pile of menus and repositioning the extra salt and pepper shakers that were kept next to it. Moments later, she felt a presence at her side, and Emily pretended not to notice.

However, Kathy wouldn't accept her cold shoulder, and the woman gently placed her hand on her lower back.

"Everything okay, Heather?" she asked tentatively. "I saw what happened over there, and, well…"

"It was nothing," Emily replied a little too quickly.

"Are you sure?"

Emily cast a glance back to table eight, only to be surprised when she didn't see the man there anymore. He was gone. It should have calmed her, but if anything, it made her feel even more uncomfortable.

"It was… just an old flame," Emily lied with a forced smile.

But Kathy's face was still serious. "Do you want me to tell Greg?"

Emily shook her head. "No, no, it'll be okay." Her gaze was still fixated to the now empty table. The cup of coffee was still there, unfinished, but otherwise, there was no sign that anyone was even there. Emily sighed.

"I don't think he'll be coming back."

* * *

It was getting late.

The wind pierced her skin through her thin overcoat like tiny little needles as she sat herself down on the front steps of her apartment with a heavy sigh. Tugging the sides of her coat tight together, Emily let her head fall back and rest against the bricked wall. She closed her eyes, and the events of earlier that day ran through her mind for the hundredth time.

Rubbing her eyes with her hands, Emily groaned tiredly as her eyes began to bristle with tears.

_Just calm down, Em. Just… breathe,_ she instructed herself, but it was to no avail. The tears stung hotly, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand.

How could she have let them find her? She was so sure that she had travelled far enough, that she had ran as fast as her legs could take her, until she thought she was finally safe and far away from _them._

But Emily quickly realized that she was really never safe; they _always _knew where she was, and they were just waiting for the right time to strike.

Frustrated and hurt, Emily brought her fist down to the ground beside her, ignoring the pain that ricocheted through her arm in painful throbs. She then shut her eyes and waited for the bout of anger to pass so she could think clearly. She could feel her heart pulsing hotly in her ears, and her fists still shook from the anger.

Reluctantly, Emily reached into her pocket and withdrew the small card, flicking it over in her fingers until she could see that familiar insignia on the front. There was no number on the front, not even one word or a name; it was just that insignia, and nothing more.

He had left it at the table, tucked under a couple of bills to pay for the coffee that he never drank, Emily having not noticed it until she was tucking the small wad of money into her purse.

Why did they come now, of all times? What did they want from her?

Feeling a headache coming on, Emily pulled herself up from the ground, fished her key out from her handbag, and entered her apartment. She kicked off her shoes and unpinned her hair from her bun as she dumped her handbag on the small table by the door.

The sudden smell of tangy aromas greeted her nose, and Emily quickly flew around the corner to see a familiar face standing at the stove.

"Michael…" Emily breathed. "What are you doing here?"

A tall head of brownish curly hair turned around, and the smile on Michael's face faded as he took in Emily's dishevelled state. He placed the ladle down on the bench and took a few steps toward her but still remaining in the kitchen.

"Oh, Heather! I saw that you weren't home yet, so, um, I thought I'd come by to cook you something for when you got back," he explained sheepishly as he rubbed the back on his neck with his free hand. "I hope you don't mind…"

Michael was probably the closest thing Emily had to a friend in the many months that she had lived here. He was her neighbour, and often came by to make sure that she was okay, since she was living on her own with no family or friends. He had greeted her with a fresh tub of casserole and a welcoming tin of cookies, offering them to her as a 'welcome to the neighbourhood' type of thing.

And on the days where Emily worked late, much like tonight, he would pop past and cook something for her that would be ready to eat as soon as she walked through the door. He admitted to her that he felt bad seeing her come home late and having to cook something, so he took it upon himself to help her out. She had declined in the beginning, feeling extremely guilty that a complete stranger would go to such lengths for her from out of the goodness of his own heart, but by now, she was used to it, and she even invited him to stay and eat with her if she found him still there when she got home.

"Oh, Michael, you didn't have to do that," Emily scolded lightly. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Nonsense," Michael replied as he came forward to greet her with a quick hug. "It's no trouble, really."

"You're just doing this so that when you're old and crippled, I'm going to be the one who has to look after you, aren't you?" she joked, and Michael shrugged.

"You got me," he admitted, throwing his hands up in the air for dramatic effect before returning to the stove. "So how was your day?"

Emily was silent for a moment before answering as her conversation with _him_ rewound in her head. "Uneventful," she replied as she hung her coat over the back of one of the table chairs.

Michael turned to her, face lined with slight worry at her simple answer. "Really?"

Emily shrugged as she plopped herself down in the chair. "Not much to tell, Michael. I serve people food at a restaurant, that's about the extent of what I do. It's not very exciting."

Thankful that Michael pressed no further, Emily leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest, trying to ignore how that little card in her pocket was burning a hole in her thigh. She then adjusted her position, swinging one leg over the other, and watched Michael's back as he worked.

Michael was truly a selfless person, Emily had to admit, and it felt strange to have someone care for her the way he did. It got Emily to thinking that he may have had a little crush on her, which was perfectly fine, though she did nothing to warrant his affections. She wasn't ready for a relationship, though she welcomed his friendship.

Her thoughts then drifted back to the card in her pocket, and Emily leaned over the table and sighed. It caught Michael's attention, much to her dismay.

"Everything okay back there?" he asked as he sprinkled a little more salt into the pot.

"I'm fine," she replied tiredly. And briefly, selfishly, Emily contemplated telling Michael everything that had happened today – that man, his offer, and about her past – all of it, but the better side of her mind knew better than to tell him about her past. She had just gotten her life back together – she still was – and she didn't want to jeopardize anything.

"You sure?" he called out again as he fished for some bowls in one of her bottom cupboards.

"I'm just…" The consideration flew through her mind again as Michael stood to his feet and turned around to face her with those soft brown eyes. She decided against it, though, avoiding that look he had in his eyes. "I'm just… tired, is all. It was a long day."

"Well, if there's ever anything you need to talk about, you know can come to me," he offered sweetly, flashing her a smile before turning back to the pot.

Emily felt terrible for lying to Michael, because he didn't deserve it. He was a kind, honest person, and it killed Emily that she couldn't be the same to him. Michael would often ask Emily about her past, and for a while, she refused to tell him anything. But, in the end, she ended up feeding him lies upon lies of someone that she wasn't, and it crushed her to see Michael smile and nod at everything she had said to him. The lies kept coming, and recently, it was becoming very difficult to keep up with it all.

She wished she could tell him. By God, she wished that she could just tell Michael _everything_ – that she was a former agent of the organisation known as S.H.I.E.L.D., that she had left two years ago, and that now they were coming back for her. She needed to tell someone, anyone, and now the brunt of what had occurred today was starting to eat away at her.

But she didn't want to ruin dinner.

So, like she had done nearly every other night, Emily ate dinner with Michael. She complimented his cooking skills, she asked about his day while nodding at the appropriate times, all while ignoring the burning in her thigh. He seemed unaware of her inner turmoil, and Emily was determined to keep it that way.

Once the soup was finished, Emily kindly refused Michael's offer of dessert, and instead, he went about cleaning up his mess, despite Emily's protests. But eventually he agreed to let her help him, and now, they were washing dishes together; Michael was washing, and Emily was drying them and stacking them up neatly on the counter next to her.

"I'm thinking of moving," Emily said, breaking the silence.

Michael almost dropped the plate he was washing, the edge of it making a sharp banging sound with the bottom of the sink. He turned to her, but Emily couldn't find it in her to meet his gaze. "Excuse me?"

"I… I think I need to go," Emily repeated.

Michael laughed nervously. "You have a terrible way of telling jokes, Heather." He then finished up that plate and then reached for another.

"No, Michael," Emily pressed on, ignoring the lump that rose in her throat. "I think I need to leave."

Michael placed the dish down in the sink. "What are you talking about, leaving? Where are you going?" The urgency in his voice almost crushed her.

"I just… I think…" Emily cleared her throat. "I just need to leave, Michael."

Michael turned to her. "You're not making any sense, Heather. What's wrong? Was it something I said? Look, I... I'm sorry if I ever—"

Emily shook her head. "No, it's not you, it's just…"

"Just what?" he insisted, his soft brown eyes boring into hers with such ferocity that she thought she might break down right here and cry. But she dutifully sucked in another breath and continued, choosing her words very carefully.

"I can't tell you," she finally managed, avoiding his gaze as she turned away from him.

Michael was silent for a moment. "Heather… you don't know what you're saying," he said, hands coming up to grip at her shoulders from behind. "Why can't you tell me? What happened?"

Emily reached up and pried his hands off of her shoulders. "I just can't tell you. I... I'm sorry, Michael."

"You…" The way his voice broke was almost too much to bear. "Heather… you can't leave."

Emily squeezed her eyes shut. "I have to."

She heard Michael sigh behind her, his voice suspiciously tight as he tried to speak, but opted against it. After a long silence, she heard Michael speak.

"I was afraid it was going to come to this..."

Emily's eyes opened at the sudden change of his tone. She was about to open her mouth to speak when she heard the familiar click of the safety of a hand gun from behind her.

Slowly, Emily turned around, and her eyes widened in shock and fear to see Michael standing there, right hand grasped on a gun that was pointed squarely at her chest. His eyes were narrowed, and there was a sternness on his face that made Emily uncomfortable.

"Michael…" she whispered, stunned, her eyes never leaving the gun in his hands. "What… what are you doing with that?"

"My job," he answered stiffly.

"Michael… you're not making any sense," Emily said, her voice getting higher with each word she said. "What are you doing with that gun?"

"Like I said, my job."

"Michael, what do you—put that damn thing down before you _hurt _somebody!" she shouted shrilly, hands coming up as if to defend herself. _"Michael!"_

Michael smiled. "Just calm down, Emily. Everything will be okay."

"What the—?" The words suddenly died on Emily's tongue as she heard him speak her name – her_ real _name. She was surprised, frightened, but above all, she was hurt – hurt that the man in front of her was not what she knew him to be moments ago.

"Wh... How do—?"

"—I know your name?" Michael chuckled, but it quickly dissipated when he saw that Emily was still wide-eyed and frightened, her eyes darting back to the gun every now and then. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"

Suddenly, Emily felt as if she didn't even know herself anymore. She wracked her brain for answers, but that gun pointing at her face made it hard to think.

"You..." she managed, arms still raised in front of her.

"Ah, just as as sharp as you ever were, my dear Emily. I'm so glad that you remember me; Agent Jackson Casey, a Level Three operative from Sector Eight in the S.H.I.E.L.D. Independent Defence Division." He then reached up and fisted his hand in his curly locks, and in one swift tug, he revealed that he was indeed wearing a wig. As the wig was peeled off, his true hair colour was revealed, which was a dark brown, almost black, colour.

"And you, Emily Jane Stark, are a rogue agent," he then used his thumb to slide over the safety of the gun, "and, by orders from Director Fury, you need to be eliminated." He then raised his arm, squaring the aim of the gun directly at her forehead.

Fraught with terror, Emily could only blink as her eyes were trained on the gun that was inches from her forehead. All the mirth had vanished from his youthful face and was replaced with a stern expression, devoid of any compassion.

The last word that had fallen from his lips still rang loudly in her head. _Eliminated. _ She was going to be shot and killed, right here, right now, on her kitchen floor.

"I've been watching you for quite a while now, Emily," Agent Casey spoke, his eyes never leaving hers.

Emily's eyes widened. "You... you were...?"

Agent Casey chuckled. "Indeed, I have been watching you for a long time – ever since you left S.H.I.E.L.D., in fact." His eyes gleamed with superiority at how well he had turned the tables on her moments ago.

Emily's breath hitched in her throat. _Ever since I left? But..._

"I was sent to watch you, of course," he explained if he was reading her thoughts, lowering his gun a few inches. "Fury wasn't too pleased that you had just up and left, but I don't blame you. Anyone in the same position would have done what you did," he said, letting those last few words to simmer through as the corners of his lips twitched upward.

Emily glared. "I did what I had to do. Fury knows that, and—"

"—Oh, believe me," he assured her, placing his free hand flat on his chest in mock compassion. "I completely understand why you left. You were weak, pathetic, and hopeless – you still are. You just couldn't cut it, could you?" His face then twisted into an ugly sneer. "And now, because of you, it's your fault that _he_—"

In a burst of rage, Emily smacked the gun out of her face and lunged toward Agent Casey, hands aiming for his neck. Her mouth opened in a cry of anger and frustration, but it was cut short when Agent Casey's knee firmly greeted her in the stomach.

Emily doubled over, hands gripping at her stomach as she tried to breathe. Meanwhile, Agent Casey delivered a swift punch to her jaw, sending her crashing backward into the island counter of her kitchen.

"I've played the nice guy for far too long," he hissed as his hand came to grip at the collar of her shirt. "I had to stand by and play the hopeless, lovesick puppy and watch from the sidelines as you went on and lived your miserable little life, ignoring the fact that it's all your fault for what happened to him!"

Emily's hands came up to grip at his strong hand, fingers trying to pry open his hand, but his grip was too strong. She choked on her breath, eyes squeezing shut as she tried with all her might to shove him away.

"I should end you where you stand," he sneered, face coming so close that his nose grazed her cheek. "You try to ignore what happened, and you do everything possible to try and forget him – to forget what you did to _him."_ The gun then came to press against the junction of her jaw and neck, and Emily shut her eyes tight, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.

"But you know what?" Agent Casey whispered, "For as long as I live, and as long as I still walk this Earth, I will never, _ever _let you forget what you did, you hear me? I want to see your actions haunt you to the deepest of graves."

He then shoved her away, releasing her, and Emily let a hand come up to gingerly grip at her own neck, tenderly rubbing the irritated skin. The gun was still pointed at her, the man now assessing her as she tried to gasp for air.

Agent Casey then stepped forward, and the gun came to press against Emily's temple, pressing down on her until she was hunched against the island counter, knees buckled. Her free hand then came to grip at his wrist, her gaze firmly meeting his.

"Imagine how easy it would be for me to kill you right now, Emily," he whispered, analysing her as if she were nothing more than a plaything. "I could just pull this trigger, and let your brains spatter against the walls."

Emily finally caught her breath. "Why don't you do it, then?" she challenged weakly, blood dripping from her lips as her grip on his wrist tightened. She then angled her head so the tip of the weapon was now pressed directly between her eyes.

"Do it."

Agent Casey's eyebrows furrowed. "You're in no position to be making demands, Stark," he growled, the force of the gun against her head increasing. Emily still stared at him, hand still gripped around his wrist, the blood from the punch still staining her teeth and gums as she was still heaving from his hand at her neck.

His teeth bore from between his lips as he glared at her before scoffing to himself disgustedly. "But as much as I'd love to see you splattered all over a wall, my orders are clear." He then placed the gun under her jaw and forced her to stand to her feet.

"Three days ago, I would have killed you, Emily." Agent Casey then looked disgusted once more. "I would have shot you, just as you were sitting here in your living room. You would have died, and no one would have even cared. But, my objective has changed."

The gun was then retrieved and set back into the back pocket of his jeans. Emily was still watching him intently, reading his body language to see if he was up to something else, but the more she looked, his actions expressed that he was indeed retreating – for a lack of a better word.

Agent Casey then crossed his arms over his chest. "Fury has ordered me to bring you back to S.H.I.E.L.D. He says he has a mission for you – one that only you can complete."

Emily's eyes went wide as his words.

"Don't look so surprised," Agent Casey laughed. "You must have known this day would come."

"I said I was never going to go back. Ever," Emily replied sternly. "And I meant that."

Agent Casey shrugged his shoulders. "Plans change."

Emily let one hand come to grip the edge of the counter behind her, using it as support. "And if I refuse?"

A sick smile formed on Agent Casey's lips. "I kill you right where you stand." He then took a step forward. "You see, Emily, while I do have my orders, there is very little standing in the way of me and your death. Don't get me wrong, you deserve to die, but it looks like Fury wants to use you one last time."

Reaching into his front left pocket, Agent Casey slipped out a small folded piece of paper and handed it to her, albeit reluctantly. Emily eyed him suspiciously.

"Don't worry, Princess," he scoffed. "It's not going to explode." He then waved it at her impatiently. "Take it."

After a brief moment of deliberation, Emily reached out and snatched the paper form Agent Casey's hand. The familiar insignia was stamped on the front, as well as a small white card paper-clipped to the top corner of it.

Agent Casey then walked around her, and headed out of the kitchen. Emily turned around on the spot to watch him as he walked, and then followed him just as he turned the corner. Within seconds, he was nearing the front door, grabbing his jacket form the coat hook in the foyer. As Emily followed him to the door, she felt the gust of cold air greet her abruptly, and just as she opened her mouth to speak, she felt a sharp pain in the side of her neck.

A wave of what felt like electricity overwhelmed her muscles, and as she quickly registered what was jammed into the side of her neck, she grabbed Agent Casey's arm, but her knees buckled, and sent her falling onto the hardwood floor.

Groaning, Emily rolled onto her side and stared up at Agent Casey with wide eyes; he was smiling that sick smile, teeth bared and lips curled back like a feral animal.

Black spots danced before her eyes, and a heavy pressure settled upon her chest. And before she knew it, Emily's vision went black.

"Remember, Emily; if you refuse this offer, I will not hesitate to kill you. There is nowhere you can hide, and nowhere you can run. I found you once, Emily, and I can do it again."

* * *

_**Please review!**_


	3. Chapter Two

_***Please refer to the very last part of the previous chapter as I made a slight change***_

**Sorry for re-uploading, guys! I didn't like the chapter, so here's its replacement! Please disregard everything from the old one!**

**Oh, and who else ended up convulsing in a puddle of their own Loki feels/destroyed ovaries after that new trailer came out?**

…**I swear that they're toying with us.**

* * *

_**Chapter Two**_

* * *

"You have left us with no other choice, Director," a deep male voice droned. "We have been rather patient with you lately, but we will not stand by any longer while your efforts continue to lead us nowhere. It is time we take matters into our own hands."

A collective of agreeable murmurs followed this, but the man in question didn't even do so much as blink as his lone eye assessed the row of silhouetted figures on the screens above him. The day had barely even begun, and the Council had insisted upon calling a meeting to discuss the fact that Fury's efforts were apparently a waste of time, which Agent Hill had been rather hesitant and perhaps frightened to inform Fury about. The Council had always been distasteful toward Director Fury, and Agent Hill sought every opportunity to avoid them and their meetings, but nonetheless, she stood just behind Director Fury, waiting patiently as the meeting continued.

"I can assure you that my agents are doing the best that they can, Councilman," Fury replied stiffly, his burly leather-clad arms coming to fold across his chest.

"Their best isn't good enough," a female spoke up in a thick accent.

Agent Hill watched as Fury's shoulders stiffened, and she sucked a sharp breath, knowing all too well that his infamous short temper was becoming redder and more ready to burst at any given moment. She hoped and prayed that the Council would just hurry up and say what they had to say and get it over with. They were an awfully tense and boring bunch of people, and sometimes Agent Hill had to wonder why they were chosen.

"As soon as I'm certain that my agents can't handle the situation any longer, I will be sure to let you know, but until then, I believe we have nothing more to speak about," Fury said, keeping his voice levelled.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Director. We have no other choice." Agent Hill swallowed hard as the Councilman prepared to deliver the final blow. She could tell that the Councilman, and the rest of the Council, weren't even listening to Fury. "Our decision is final. We will be taking over this operation from here on out."

Director Fury looked less than pleased. "Until the day comes where I am rotting beneath the ground, Councilman, this operation will be headed by me, and me only. But until such a day comes, I am in charge of this operation."

"I'm afraid you no longer have a say in the matter, Director. This issue needs to be resolved, and we will do just that," the Councilman asserted tersely. "We have no other choice but to inform you that from this day forth, you are hereby relieved of—"

Director Fury then unfolded his arms and reached for the control pad in front of him, and Agent Hill knew what he was about to do. Just as the eyes of the head Councilman widened in shock, the call was abruptly terminated.

"Goodbye, Councilman."

Before the screen even had a chance to fade to black, Director Fury had pushed past Agent Hill and was already storming out of the conference room and down the hallway, that same old scowl creased onto his hardened face. With a sigh, she quickly followed suit, trying not to get too close to the imminent explosion that was Director Fury while, at the same time, trying to catch him before the electronic doors had a chance to hiss shut on her.

It was a few minutes of walking and brusquely turning numerous corners and avoiding bumping into any other agents before Agent Hill tried to work up the courage to speak. The two were currently in the main control room of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s newly constructed base. It was just as cold and as sterile as it had been before it was destroyed over three years ago, yet it was bigger, enforcing the never-ending sleek finish of chrome and the incessant blipping of hundreds of computer screens that seemed near inescapable.

Director Fury stopped at an entryway that led into his main office, and the door immediately hissed open to reveal a questionably large room with an even more questionably large steel desk that sat dead centre of the cold room, lit by piercingly bright lights that shone down from the – yes, you guessed it – steel ceiling. The place was almost an impenetrable fortress.

It wasn't, mind you, but after the fiasco three years ago, some architectural changes had been made.

"Sir… what do we do now?" Agent Hill stood just near the door, trying to mask the uncomfortable lump that rose in her throat. Usually, after a particularly… interesting meeting with the Council, Director Fury was damn near impossible to be near, let alone even talk to. But now, he seemed unnervingly calm for someone who was almost relieved of his duties.

It was while before he replied. And it felt like the longest eight seconds that Agent Hill had ever experienced.

"What do you mean?" His answer sounded… surprised? As if he expected her to already know the answer to what he was referring to?

Agent Hill hesitated, fumbling for the right words to say.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir," she said slowly, briefly considering turning slightly to make a break for the door, should Director Fury's temper decide to make an appearance.

"Agent Hill," Fury began, "You remember Project 503, don't you?"

Agent Hill blinked, obviously taken aback at the turn of conversation. "Project 503? It's only the most famous case in our history…"Her brow furrowed slightly, though she held herself back from asking why. Fury then looked up to her from his desk.

___Was that the answer he was looking for?_

"And what did the Council say about it?" Director Fury asked.

Agent Hill thought for a moment. It was years ago, though she remembered the meeting as if it had occurred only yesterday. "They said that… that it couldn't be done, that it was impossible to carry out the mission and retrieve the missing politicians without any casualties, and that—"

Fury then stood from his questionably large chair, and in that split second, it clicked.

Well, sort of.

In all of the years that Agent Hill had worked alongside Director Fury, she had learned a few things here and there. The foremost thing she had learned was how intelligent the man was, despite his abrasive attitude. He was always switched on, never letting his concentration slip, even for the slightest second. The next thing Agent Hill had learned was that there was no situation that Fury couldn't handle.

And the most important thing that she had learned was that Director Fury was never without a plan in mind.

"Do you have a plan, sir?" Agent Hill asked, her voice both lined with a mix of relief and apprehension.

Director Fury then walked around his desk to face her, his face strained with utter seriousness, and Agent Hill couldn't suppress the unpleasant twinge in her chest.

"What I have planned is something that I'm not even sure will work," Fury explained, arms coming to fold across his chest loosely. "And as uncertain as it is, it's also extremely risky, and may even result in many casualties, but," he paused briefly, "this is our last chance."

Agent Hill stood to attention. "So what do we do, sir?"

* * *

_It's dark. It's an endless abyss of black, stretching to the infinite corners of the universe. It's everywhere and nowhere, and nor is it up or down. It's crippling, it's everywhere, and it's just… there._

_It's cold, she suddenly realized, as she began to feel her skin prickle. She could feel herself blink, too, but everything was still empty – just a pit of nothingness. She can hear her heart thumping in her chest, and her frightened blue eyes look around for something – anything – that she can walk toward._

_But there was nothing._

_She can feel the thumping of her heart grow a little faster, and a little louder. In a desperate attempt to fend off the crushing darkness, she reaches up and cups her own cheeks, relieved that she can touch at least something. Her fingers graze across her face, down to her chin, and around her neck before running back up through her hair._

_She then tries to open her mouth to speak, but she is stopped by the sudden light that appears across from her, getting brighter, getting closer. Her eyes grow wide, and a lump drops itself into the pits of her stomach. The light seems to be moving closer, carefully peeling away the black edges of the abyss and paving the way._

_Her heart skips a beat, and she immediately runs toward the light, heart hopeful and feet pounding hard on the unseen ground. The darkness starts to peel away completely, and she can feel a smile – a real one – slowly spread across her lips. Her arms pump in sync with her legs, and it's after a few more seconds that she finally bursts through._

_The brightness is hot, really hot, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. She can smell nothing at first, nor can she hear anything. Her arm then comes up to shield herself away from the blinding light, and as the brightness dims, she is eager to see what awaits her._

_Red._

_Burning red; everything is hot – her skin, her eyes, and the air. Everything burns, and it's not until she looks down that she realizes just how wrong she was._

_Bright red flames lick the ground her, and claw their way up the concrete walls like whips. The air is thick with smoke, and it invades her nose and lungs with ferocity. She coughs, and coughs again, and holds her hand up to her mouth, covering it._

_Her eyes burn, and she can literally feel the smoke sear its way across the exposed flesh of her eye like tiny pinpricks. She shuts them, but the burning sensation is still there. Everything burns._

_Horrified, she turns around, and realizes that the calm blackness in nowhere to be found; it's gone, and has left nothing in its wake. Instead, the flames surround her on all sides, and it's just before a support beam threatens to fall that she sucks in a deep breath leaps her way through an opening._

_The ground is alight with red, and everything starts to blur as she runs. The ground burns beneath her feet, and just as her knees prepare to buckle, the tip of her foot catches on something – something heavy, and dense._

_Her elbows and shoulders scream in protest as she lands on the ground, hard. She grazes along the dirt and concrete, and then comes to a complete halt. Rolling onto her back, she pries her eyes open, teeth grit together so hard that it hurt, and looks down at her feet._

_And she screams._

_It rips from her chest and sears its way up and out of her throat. It burns, but she screams harder against the pain, eyes widening in horror at what lay there._

_It was a body._

_The flesh was marred with burns, and some of the skin had been eaten away by the flames to reveal the muscle and bone that lay underneath. She screams and screams again as her eyes travel to the head that lay gnarled and open-mouthed. The eyes were sunken, and totally eradicated from the consuming flames. The mouth was torn open so much that it paralyzed her with such a cold fear that she could hear its voice screaming out to her in a voice so fraught with fear – so thick with hysteria and so full of desperation – that it made Emily want to slam her hands over her ears and scream until her lungs gave out._

_Everything, from the sky to the ground, was so uncomfortably vivid that Emily could reach out and physically graze her fingers along the dirty ground beneath her; she could literally taste the blood in her mouth, could feel it between her teeth, and the pain in her left arm, and—_

—air; she couldn't breathe.

Emily felt her body propel itself up into a sitting position, and her lungs quickly bore the brunt of suffocation as she tried to regain her breath. Her chest burned, and the intense heat of the flames evaporates before her eyes. Everything disappeared.

Just like that.

The flames were gone, and the deafening roar of the inferno had vanished so quickly that it made Emily's head spin. The red was replaced by a stark white, and a rush of cool air greeted her impatiently. Her vision swam, and she shut her eyes and covered them with her hands; the queasiness didn't fade as quickly as she'd hoped.

"It's good to see you again, Emily."

Emily spun around on the bed, entire body aching, and eyes wide as they landed on the person belonging to the voice. He sat in a stainless steel chair just a few feet from the bed, clad in a perfectly kempt suit. His neutral face caused a strike for alarm, and Emily instantly recognized who he was.

_"I just want to talk," he answered simply. "Is that too much to ask?"_

_Emily scoffed and folded her arms across her chest as she leaned back in her chair. "And what makes you think I want to talk to you?"_

"You..." she breathed.

The man's thin lip quirked up in one of the corners of his mouth, and his hands moved to brush the non-existent dust from his suit. His steel grey eyes then came back up to meet her terrified blue ones.

"Glad to see that you remember me," he commented as he nonchalantly shifted his weight on the chair. "I was afraid that the tranquilizer was going to last at least for another hour or two." His eyes then narrowed. "But I see that you're still as resilient as always."

Emily's eyes went wide and her chest seared with anger; how _dare_ they do this to her. How _dare_ they drag her back here.

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear the last time," Emily ground out as she sat up fully, legs coming to hang over the edge of the thin mattress and fists coming to rest against her thighs in an effort to restrain herself.

The man didn't seem at all phased by her temper. "You don't seem to trust me."

Emily narrowed her eyes into little slits. "Give me one good reason why I should."

"I assume that your freedom in return isn't enough?"

"My life isn't exactly what I'd call worth living." _Anymore._

"So you want to die?"

"I'm afraid that it's more complicated than that," Emily replied, voice strained. "The way I see it, I'm going to die either way."

"Then why not live a little longer?" he retorted, not missing a beat. "Surely you don't value your life with such little regard."

"Since when do you care?" Emily asked. "From what I remember, you guys wanted nothing more than for me to be dead. I am a rogue agent, yet you let me live - for two whole years. Why is that?"

The man smirked. "You're a lot more clever than I gave you credit for." He then leant back in the uncomfortable looking chair. "Most offered to pay handsomely for a mercenary like you; and they still do. You were one of the best." He paused, looking at her from her legs to her face. "Took a lot of guts to do what you did."

Emily didn't respond. She didn't need to. He already knew the answer to everything he was saying, even if it weren't a question. He was just stating facts - and frankly, it was beginning to be tiresome.

"I did what I had to do."

"Of course you did. And you ended up right back where you started," he said in a low voice, and Emily's jaw twitched and her chest burned with such ferocity that she felt that her rib cage was going to burst open.

"Listen," he said in a low voice, leaning forward in his chair. "I don't know why Fury suddenly changed his mind about you. Frankly, if it were up to me, you would have been dead the day you left. And despite my status, there are things that I don't even know. But what I do know is that Fury made it undeniably known that you are the only one capable for the mission at hand."

Emily stared at the man, not letting her gaze slip for a moment, eyes stinging with frustrated tears that welled up just behind her lids, but she blinked them away.

The man continued. "So you have two options; you can accept the offer, and we let you live. On the other hand, if you refuse, you will be dead before you can make the lobby."

Emily crossed her arms across her chest. "What do you mean by 'let me live'?"

The man smiled to himself. "If you accept this mission, and complete it, we won't bother you anymore. You're free to go and live the life you always wanted."

"I had that life long before you decided to show your faces," Emily snapped.

The man began to look quite pleased with himself, and suddenly the mood of the room shifted.

"Did you really?"

His words caught her off guard. Emily kept her mouth shut and her eyes leveled, but the twitch in her jaw gave her away. The man then leaned back in the chair, and watched her as if he was preparing to close in on her.

"You lived a life in fear, Emily. You were constantly on the move, always looking over your shoulder to see if we were there." His eyes narrowed. "And we were."

Emily's chest then suddenly burned cold, and her skin prickled with fear. She chose to remain still though, keeping her jaw clenched shut and fists clenched underneath her folded arms.

"We were always there, Emily. We were always watching you, waiting until the right moment to bring you back." Emily's eyes grew wide in fear, and the cold touch began to seep into the cracks of her already fractured armor.

The man leaned forward once more, elbows positioned on his thighs, and he lowered his voice, preparing to deliver the final blow.

"You see, Emily, you were never really gone. We've kept our distance," he explained in a low voice. "You were far too valuable to kill, and, well, we bent the rules slightly just to let you live."

"You're sick," Emily managed to say, fists clenched so tight that her fingernails were sure to pierce the skin of her palms.

"I'd be a little more grateful, Agent. We didn't have to let you live," the man countered.

"Then why?"

The man laughed. "I just told you. Killing a valuable agent such as yourself wouldn't be the… best of ideas." The man smiled. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Emily abruptly stood from the bed. "I've had enough of this," she growled as she made her way for the door, chest burning and head suddenly pounding. Just as her shoulder grazed his, the man stood from his chair and gripped her upper arm tightly.

Frustrated and hurt, Emily whirled around, arm raised and ready to strike. The familiar clench of muscles ran through her arm, and she hesitated. Her hand trembled, and then, the door behind them both slid open with a hiss, and Emily immediately dropped her arm and turned toward the door.

"Coulson," a deep voice boomed. Emily's eyes went wide; she would recognize that voice anywhere.

Director Nick Fury stood in the doorway, arms crossed, leather adorning every inch of his arms and shoulders, which draped down toward the floor like a river of coal. That lone eye was focused purely on her, and it sent a cold chill running down Emily's spine. Slowly, she felt the man – Coulson's – hand slip from her upper arm. The skin and muscle underneath throbbed, but Emily paid no mind; things just became serious.

"Director," Coulson addressed as he straightened out his suit. "Emily and I were just talking," he assured, sensing the suspicion in Fury's eye as he looked to Emily and then back to Fury.

"Sure doesn't look like it," Fury countered swiftly without missing a beat. His eye was still focused on Emily, and she swallowed hard.

"I was just leaving," Emily asserted as she took a step toward the door. As she reached the door, she looked up to Fury, holding his gaze.

"It's nice to see you again, Agent Stark," Fury said, although the words didn't sound too pleasant, and nor were there any signs of emotion within them. Fury then looked to Agent Coulson.

"If you'll excuse us, Coulson; there are a few things I wish to speak with Emily about." There was absolutely no room for arguments in his order, and albeit hesitantly, Agent Coulson cleared his throat and left the room. Once the door slid shut with a hiss, Director Fury unfolded his arms from across his chest. Emily took a few steps back and chose to cross her arms over her chest.

It was a moment or two before Director Fury spoke, and the tension in the air was almost palpable; Emily didn't meet his gaze, and she was sure he could sense how uncomfortable she was. Despite that, she spoke anyway.

"How much did he tell you?"

Emily looked up to Fury. "Enough." She then cleared her throat. "Is it true?"

"For the most part, yes," he answered.

"So you never really left me alone? You were watching me this whole time?" Emily tried to keep her voice level, but her patience was thinning, and her frustration was now mixed with hopelessness and confusion.

"Yes."

Emily groaned and held a hand to her forehead, letting it hang there for a moment before she let her hand drop back to her side. She scrambled for something to say in return, but her mind could only come up with one simple question.

"Why me?"

Fury then took a few steps forward, eyes flickering to the floor. "You were one of the best agents that our organization had ever seen," he explained sternly. "You were far too important to kill, and we also had to keep other interested parties off of your scent."

Emily's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Fury's gaze intensified. "I wasn't lying when I said you were the best, Agent Stark. When word got out that you had abandoned S.H.I.E.L.D., we put all of our efforts into keeping you safe from harm."

"So I'm just a weapon to you?" she demanded, voice become shrill; though she didn't care. "And when you knew that if you couldn't have me, then no one else could? Is _that_ it?"

"You're not a weapon, Emily."

Emily's face contorted into a fierce glare. "Then why keep this from me? And why tell me now? Why not just kill me?" her voice cracked at that last part. "Why go to," she swallowed thickly, "go to all of this effort just to keep me alive?" Emily's chest was heaving now, and her eyes were red with frustration.

"We wanted to protect you."

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. She swallowed again and again, but the words died on her tongue. With a few rapid breaths, Emily fell to the bed, head hung in her upturned hands. Through her harsh breaths, Emily heard the familiar shuffle of leather, and then a creak, and the shadow that was cast over the floor on front of her told her that Fury had sat down in the steel chair.

Another rustle greeted her ears, and the yellowed edge of a manila folder entered her vision. Hesitantly, Emily eyed the folder, and when Fury tipped it slightly, she plucked it from Fury's hands and flipped the cover open.

Inside it were countless photos of destruction; buildings covered with flames, people running for their lives, and as she flipped through them, a familiar face showed up on the next picture, and the picture after that. And she'd know that pale face anywhere.

"After the destruction of New York, and as you may already know, the Avengers managed to defeat Loki and bring him to justice," Fury explained. "However, when Thor supposedly took him back to Asgard to face their courts, it wasn't really him."

Emily looked up from the folder, but she didn't say anything.

Fury continued. "Loki had created a last minute line of defense; an illusion to serve in his place while he hid and remained undetected from the rest of the world and the other realms. As the months passed, we began to receive strange readings on our systems."

Emily then looked back down to the folder and examined the profile attached to it. The name at the top read _Loki Laufeyson_ in bold letters, and below it, was standard S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence about what they had learned from the attack, and also from Loki's brother, Thor. The next page recited the death toll for New York, as well as the damage costs, and the span of his damage.

"With whatever magic Loki had left, it was more than enough to summon an army, called the Chitauri, to Earth – just as he did back in New York. And with an army at his side, Loki managed to take over Germany in a matter of days. He came out of nowhere, and we were unprepared."

Emily looked up to Fury again.

"The death toll has risen into the thousands now, and we fear that Loki intends to expand his territory into neighboring countries."

"And what do you want me to do about it? Can't your Avengers do something?" Emily said coldly.

"Why else would I have called you here?"

Emily thought for a moment. "If your precious Avengers couldn't defeat him this time around, then what makes you think I can do this?"

Fury rose from the steel chair. "Loki knows who we are – our strengths, weaknesses, all of it. Every attempt we made to infiltrate and destroy his lair has failed – he knows us too well, and we are running out of time."

"So send in another agent," Emily quipped, dismissively tossing the file to the floor.

Without missing a beat, Fury reached into his leather coat and pulled out another file. He handed it to her, and she took it, flipped open the cover, and looked inside. The bitterness drained away, and as her face scanned over the pictures of three innocent faces, it was replaced with an emotion that she couldn't identify.

"Every single one of these agents has already died trying, and the Council will not hesitate to wage a nuclear strike on the entire population if we don't do something soon."

Emily tossed the file to the ground and stood to her feet.

"All the more reason to pick someone more qualified," she mumbled tiredly.

"You don't have much of a choice here, Stark." Fury's voice was leveled and unbelievably calm. "You either live long enough to see Christmas, or you die. Which is it?"

No matter how hard she tried to deny it, that little voice in the back of her mind agreed that Emily really only had one option to take, despite it being the less favorable one. She saw them both as a death sentence anyway; but just as she was about to open her mouth to tell Fury to shove it, a thought occurred.

_This is your chance! You would be finally free – from all of it; you could have a chance to live happily._

Emily's mind came to a screeching halt.

Her chance to finally be rid of the past life forever. No more looking over her shoulder, no more running and no more hiding. She could live peacefully.

Although, she would have to re-enter that dark world and face its demons one more time to be surely rid of it, but it was still a chance nonetheless. If she accepted the offer, and if Agent Coulson was speaking truthfully, then Fury, including S.H.I.E.L.D. and everything related to it, would leave her alone for good this time – one the condition that she completed the mission.

Only one condition.

_Just one. And then you can finally be free__…_

It was a long shot – barely even there – but if Emily managed to complete the mission, they would finally leave her alone. Forever.

Emily could practically taste the sweetness of the deal with her own tongue, and it sent a thrill down her spine that she had never experienced before.

But Emily hesitated. What other possible catch could there be? The offer seemed simple enough; complete the mission and you're free to go, no questions asked.

Something in the back of her mind warned her that the mission, should she accept it, wasn't going to be a walk in the park. Her mind then reels back to the days where her life was ruled by lying and killing; it was all she ever remembered doing.

And mission can't not without sacrifice.

Things happened, and there wasn't anything you could do to stop it.

And Emily had had more than her fair share of hardships during those years as an agent. You were drained of all humanity, and trained to be a soulless monster. Despite all of that, every agent still had that small part of them that just couldn't be crushed – the little voice in the back of their mind that told them to follow their heart instead of their head.

But if you hesitated – even just for a second – you would cost everyone the entire mission.

And perhaps your very own life.

That aside, the idea of finally being rid of her past was tempting – so tempting that she briefly considered taking the offer.

But not just yet.

Emily then turned around to face Director Fury, arms coming to fold across her chest.

"First things first, what do I have to do?"

"Infiltrate Loki's lair, and bring it down from the inside, by any means necessary."

"Where?"

"Ludwigsburg Palace in Germany."

"How long?"

"That all depends on how quickly you finish the mission."

Emily thought hard for a moment. This type of mission wasn't anything new to her. In fact, it was one of the easier ones, she remembers. Back in her days, she loved this type of mission; it was where she excelled most, able to complete these missions with no faults or hindrances.

Fury was offering her the freedom that she deserved.

Still, she wasn't going to play by their rules.

"I will accept the mission – on one condition," Emily warned, eyes narrowing slightly. "And hear me when I say that I'm not doing this mission for you, your organization, nor for the lives of millions. I am doing this simply because you owe me my freedom, got it?"

Emily cleared her throat. "I will accept the mission; I will infiltrate Loki's lair, and I will destroy it from the inside out, and I will bring him to justice – but on one condition," she warned.

"The second I set foot back on American soil, you don't look for me, you don't try to contact me, and you leave me alone. I will complete the mission, and in return, you reinstate my freedom with added compensation. Those are my terms."

Fury seemed to mull over her proposal for a brief moment before he closed his eyes, and then reopened them. Reaching into one of his leather pockets, he fished out an envelope and handed it to her.

"You leave for Germany in three days' time."

Fury then turned around and began to head toward the door. As he was nearly halfway through the frame, he cocked his head to the side.

"Welcome back, Agent Stark."

* * *

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